Interludes
by irishwoodkern
Summary: A series of one-shots from the 'Death and all of His Friends' universe. Watch out for the rating as things could get out of hand. Hope you enjoy.
1. Chapter 1

The Morning After

Abbie was startled out of the most delicious reverie by an insistent, shrill ringing sound. It shattered the quiet of the early afternoon and broke through the delightful cocoon that had been established inside the bedroom of the cabin. Though sorely tempted to ignore it, she patted the bed, eventually locating the errant phone discarded beneath the pillows.

She swore to herself as she read the name on the screen.

_Damn. _

It was Irving. She had left a message with his secretary making excuses for not coming into the station this morning. After Henry's death and her abduction by Andy Brooks, she needed to spend some time recovering, she had said.

_Recovering. _

Abbie smiled to herself. That was what she and Crane had spent much of yesterday afternoon and last night doing.

At that moment, Crane was slowly kissing his way from her ankle to her toes, and she was extremely ticklish. She nudged the side of his head with her other foot as she answered the call.

'Mills.'

'I've heard you're taking some unauthorised leave today.' The tone of Irving's voice suggested that he was not in a mood to be trifled with.

Abbie gasped as Crane licked the base of her foot.

'Yes, sir,' she replied, struggling to regain composure while at the same time trying to regain possession of her leg. 'I needed to… uh… rest up after everything that's happened…'

'Well, good. You're no good to me if you're running on empty.'

Abbie was nonplussed by her employer's reaction, but her mind was distracted by the realisation that Crane was sucking each of her toes in turn.

'In fact, I don't want to see your face until next week. That's an order.'

'Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.'

'Say hi to Crane for me.'

Abbie barely had time to register her surprise before Irving finished the call.

She turned her attention to the man between her legs, trying to assume a stern expression. 'You're going to get me fired, you know.'

Crane looked mischievously up at her. 'Forgive me, my lady,' he said, slowly moving up her body, planting kisses here and there. 'How can I atone for my grievous error?'

Abbie ran her fingers over his cheeks, through his hair and down over his shoulders. He was so beautiful; she thought she would never grow tired of exploring the contours of his body. She dragged her nails down his back, varying the pressure to wring a tantalising mixture of pleasure and pain from him.

'My love,' he murmured, shivering agreeably. 'You will be the end of me.'

'Hmm,' Abbie replied. 'I'm looking forward to seeing that.'

Crane grabbed the back of her knee and pulled her tight against him. His intention made plain, he kissed her slowly and thoroughly.

As much as she was enjoying it, Abbie would not lose herself completely in his embrace. She loved to tease him by ceding control before shocking him with her lips, nails or tongue. She bit his lower lip, sucking gently and enjoying the muffled growl that came from her lover's mouth.

He pulled away, breathing heavily.

'Abbie?' There was supplication in his voice.

'Please,' she whispered desperately. 'Take me. I need you now.'

Crane kissed her softly, sending a shudder of delicious sensuous pleasure through her as he slipped his tongue into her mouth. Her eyes opened wide with surprise as he positioned himself behind her, pressing his body against hers.

The prospect of making love without being able to see his face was strangely thrilling. It was all about trust, all about sensation.

Her pulse quickened as his fingers moved over her skin, barely touching, tickling. His hand brushed against her breast, making her jump slightly as it trailed softly over her stomach. He reached his fingers between her legs, stroking the tender flesh with loving care.

Abbie hooked her foot behind Crane's ankle and held on for dear life.

She let out a shaky breath as they came together. The feeling was almost overwhelming, a sudden burst of light and heat like the completion of an electric circuit. She reached behind her, seeking him, anxious to bring him ever closer. She had never felt so whole, so connected to another person as she did in that moment.

'Oh, Ichabod,' she moaned. 'I love you… I love you.'

Crane gently kissed her shoulder, moving slowly, letting the sound of her breaths be his guide. He increased his pace, feeling the familiar tension growing between them. He held back, resisting the temptation to take his pleasure, waiting for the intensity of Abbie's cries to reach a crescendo.

He felt her body tense and tighten like the string of a bow before releasing, plummeting downwards like a bird through the clear air. He soon followed, waves of ecstasy crashing over him as words of love spilled from is lips.

They both quieted, slowly pulling themselves and each other back from the brink of some other mysterious plane, where life and death, pain and pleasure, love and loss were one and the same.

Abbie turned to face him, her eyes lit up with wonder. 'Well, Mr. Crane.' She paused and kissed him deeply. 'I think you've redeemed yourself.'

'Glad to hear it.' He leaned towards her and kissed her ever so gently, savouring the sweetness of her lips.

As they pulled apart, Abbie grinned with sheer contentment. 'Is there anything I can do in return?'

Crane considered her thoughtfully for a moment. 'Well, if I might suggest…'

'Yes?'

'…some breakfast?'


	2. Chapter 2

Reconciliation

_Crane pulled the robe over his head and straightened his hair before regarding his reflection. He was sure he looked well; one could scarcely look otherwise in the ceremonial hooded robe which signified his status as a graduate of Merton College._

_He knew he should feel proud of himself; he was graduating at the top of his class in one of England's most prestigious seats of learning. If he played his cards right, he would soon have tenure as a professor of languages. He would step out from the long shadow of his father and become his own man._

_Then why did he feel so unsure of himself? Why did he feel as if he was trading one form of dishonesty for another?_

_Sick to his stomach, he opened the door of his sleeping quarters and prepared to meet his future._

'Crane? Earth calling Crane!'

It took a moment for Crane to realise where he was. He was back in the archives and Maeve Burke was seated opposite him, a quizzical look on her thin, pixie-like face.

'Forgive me, what did you say?'

'I said, you've been staring at that book for half an hour. Have you found anything?'

It was Thursday night, and they were rifling through the books and manuscripts which lined the shelves of the large room, vainly looking for answers. It seemed as if their war against Moloch had come to a standstill. Since Katrina's death, they had made frustratingly little progress in their attempts to defeat Moloch's plans to bring on the apocalypse.

'Nothing of great moment.' Crane sighed in irritation. 'It would help if the others were here to help us.'

'Well, unfortunately Abbie is on a date with Luke, my husband is on some boy's own adventure with Jenny, and Captain Irving is taking his daughter to the movies. We're on our own.'

Crane glowered at Maeve's words. Ever since the night of Abbie's birthday, he had been in a state of confusion and tumult regarding his feelings for her. He felt upended and vulnerable, pierced by a shard of some unknown force which slowly burrowed its way towards his heart with an inexorable will. He could not bear to examine his heart too closely for fear of what he would uncover. All he knew for sure was that the thought of Abbie and Luke together made his skin crawl.

He looked down at the book in front of him – a guide to the collection of the National College of Art in Washington, D.C. He had been idly perusing the paintings when he came across 'A Graduate of Merton College, Oxford', a painting which featured a young alumnus of Crane's old college. Suddenly, memories flooded back to him, feelings of love and warmth that centred around his father.

Since Crane's discovery of his father's affair with his indentured servant Maria, his attitudes towards him had undergone a complete sea change. He no longer saw him as a demigod who seemed to dominate his conscience. Instead, he was a man with feet of clay, a man capable of error. Nevertheless, there was a part of his heart that still called out for his father. There was a part of Crane that still longed to reconcile with him.

'Penny for your thoughts?' Maeve asked.

'I was merely thinking about my father. The day of my graduation from Merton College stands out in my memory. Walking out through the door of my bedchamber, knowing that my father was waiting for me, knowing that he was proud of me.' He smiled. 'That knowledge, that confidence has sustained me through terrible hardships in my life. It sustains me still. Sometimes, when I walk through a door, I half expect to find my father waiting for me.'

Maeve seemed confused. 'I'm sorry, but wasn't this the man who disowned you, the man who cut you off?'

'Yes, but I'm convinced that we would have reconciled, had I not, well…'

'Died?' Maeve supplied.

'Quite.'

Maeve looked intently at Crane, as if she could use her druidic powers to see deep inside him, to know his deepest secrets and intentions.

'Your father didn't love you, Crane. I hate to tell you this, but he didn't love you.'

Crane looked at Maeve in shock and annoyance. 'Of course he loved me. He may not have been perfect, but he was my father.'

'Some parents don't love their children.' Maeve shrugged. She stared down at her hands, contemplating them deeply. 'I was twelve when I had my first… vision, whatever you call it. It happened by pure accident, and it was scary and weird but I was elated too. It made me special.' She smiled a little sadly. 'I ran and told my mother, but of course she didn't believe me. When the vision came true she was so scared, so sad. She told me I must never tell anyone about that side of me. People would never understand.

'I did what she said. I tried to be normal – I tried for years. One day, I wouldn't do it anymore and I told her so. She said that unless I could be the kind of daughter she could be proud of, I could leave and never come back. She threw me out on the streets.'

There were pinpricks of tears in Maeve's eyes. She nervously tugged at her sleeves, hiding the needle marks, hiding the shame.

'That was the day I realised that she didn't love me – my own mother. Parents are supposed to love their children, no matter what. But she only loved the part of me that she wanted – the perfect daughter. To be that person I had to hide, I had to be somebody else. Eventually I met Finbarr and I realised that sometimes it's possible for people to choose their family.'

Was it possible? For years he had lived with the belief that it had all been a misunderstanding, that his father would have eventually forgiven him for defecting to the side of the patriots. The breach between them would someday have healed. Despite everything, he had never really doubted his father's love for him, not until that moment.

Crane dropped his eyes to the painting before him, to the young man in his ceremonial robes staring at him with a proud unflinching gaze. He felt an unexpected sense of defiant pride. The young man represented all that he used to be. He could not erase it or change it, nor could he change his relationship with his father. He could never take back all that had passed between them, but at the same time, he did not have to allow his father to dictate how he lived his life.

He looked back at Maeve, no longer able to deny the wisdom of her words. 'I believe you may be right, Miss Burke. Perhaps I have spent too long grieving the family I have lost. Perhaps it is time I appreciated the family I have chosen.'


	3. Chapter 3

In Sickness and in Health

Abbie dismissed it as food poisoning at first. The night before – too exhausted to cook – they had ended up eating some leftover sushi. She now wondered if the fish might have been a little off. Between work and the stress and upheaval of the recent months, she reasoned that her immune system might be a little low. It wasn't just her, though. All day, she had taken turns with Crane using the bathroom to throw up.

The last six months had been a whirlwind of activity. Crane moving in with her had been a big adjustment. It turned out that she liked her space and her own company more than she had known. The realisation that she would practically never be alone again was a surprisingly big shock to the system. Another surprise was the discovery of how much room one lanky Brit could take up. Whatever she did, he was always there – in her kitchen, in her shower, in her bed.

She lay awake one night, watching him sleep, one arm tightly gripping her waist. She felt a sudden panic, a desire to flee. For most of her adult life she had avoided attachments, knowing that no matter how much she loved someone, they would inevitably leave or break her heart. That much was a given.

A great swell of bitterness washed over her as she gazed at the man she had promised to marry.

_How dare you? _She thought furiously. _How dare you come into my life and rob me of my freedom? I didn't ask for this – any of it! I didn't ask to be a Witness, to be shackled to a man until the end of my days through a freaking blood bond! It sucks – I hate it!_

After a while, her breathing slowed and she felt a sense of calm overtake her. The rational part of her brain kicked in, realising that this was just anxiety. Tomorrow she would feel differently.

_Get it together girl_, she told herself. _You know he won't leave you. He loves you. This is permanent._

From that moment on, there was an incredible sense of comfort in having himthere every day. She would have a minor freak out from time to time, like that one occasion when he accidentally used her toothbrush (she was only human after all). In the main, it suited her just fine.

The preparations for their wedding took up most of their free time after that. Though they both wanted as simple a ceremony as possible, there were seemingly endless contingencies that needed to be accounted for. It was exhausting and stressful and almost succeeded in sapping the joy out of their lovely day.

For a few blessed minutes inside the chapel, surrounded by their few precious loved ones, they were able to forget everything else and focus on each other.

Abbie tried to concentrate on those happy memories as she hunched over the toilet, her stomach roiling. As much as she knew logically that she was suffering from a biological reaction to a stomach flu or some bad tuna, it was hard not to take her current misery personally. What made it marginally more bearable was knowing that her husband was suffering as much as she was.

_Only she wasn't such a baby about it, _she thought bitterly.

That was when she realised what was happening. This wasn't food poisoning, nor was it a by-product of a compromised immune system.

This was… _life_.

The shock was short-lived; after all, she had stopped taking the Pill immediately after the wedding. When Crane proposed to her she announced – as much to her amazement as to his – that she wanted to try for kids as soon as possible. They had wasted too much time already; they had lost too many loved ones to Moloch's evil.

By the time she got back from seeing Dr. Gibbons the next day, Crane was up and cleaning the fridge with a vengeance.

'Crane, what are you doing?'

'Disposing of this fetid mess of decaying food. I've told you a thousand times, this ice-box is a haven for disease.'

Abbie smiled. Since moving in together, she had discovered that her new husband was something of a neat-freak. 'It wasn't the food, Crane.'

When he continued pulling out boxes of old takeout, she adopted her work voice – the one that brooked no opposition. 'Ichabod, listen to me. I went to the doctor today.'

Crane turned to look at her in alarm. 'Tell me it's nothing serious.'

Abbie could see a sheen of sweat gathering on his brow.

'Calm down, I'm not sick at all. In fact…' She paused, trying to think of the best way to break it to him.

'For heaven's sake, Abbie. Don't leave me in suspense.'

'I'm pregnant.'

He looked at her in silent astonishment for what seemed like an eternity. She could almost see his brain processing the information, until he finally shook his head in disbelief.

'You're…' he stammered. 'But that means I've been…'

'Empathising,' she supplied. Whether it was their connection as Witnesses or as lovers, or because of the blood-tie, Crane had clearly been experiencing morning sickness with her. 'You should really stop doing that.'

Crane gathered her in his arms and for the first time since their shared bout of sickness, he was able to kiss her properly.

Later, as they lay in bed, he touched her belly with joyful anticipation. 'How big is he right now?' he whispered.

Abbie noted the 'he' but didn't object. It felt like a he.

'He's about the size of an acorn.' She sensed her husband smile at the image.

'Do you think he knows how much he's wanted?'

She felt her throat constrict with emotion. 'I don't think so. But he will.'

A memory came back to him, a dream he had once had. This was what he had dreamed of – this very moment. It had been surrounded by sadness, though. He had believed that he would never experience that sense of joy for real.

Abbie tangled her fingers in his hair. 'Crane, I love you so much,' she whispered.

That was when Crane knew that his dream had come true.


	4. Chapter 4

The Confession

Two weeks had passed since Crane's fateful encounter with the trickster-demon. Two weeks since he opened his eyes and allowed Abbie to drag him back into the real world. Though physically he was very much his usual robust self, Abbie could not help noticing something vulnerable and lost in his demeanour. Most of the time he hid it well. He immersed himself in research, spending hours in the archives, boning up on demonology and the occult.

However, from time to time Abbie would spot him staring off into the middle distance, perhaps remembering the lost life he had regained so briefly, only to have it snatched away again. Abbie's heart broke whenever she glimpsed the look of sadness on his face. She knew she had done the right thing in entering his dream to bring him back. At the same time, she felt a pang of guilt had having destroyed Crane's happy illusion.

Her days and nights were filled with Crane now, though not in the ways she wished. Her days were consumed with concern for him, for his health and his mental well-being. She was obsessed in making sure that he was physically healthy, that the danger of the blood bond did not return to haunt them before she discovered a way to sever it.

The nights were pure torture. Realising the depth of her feelings for Crane had only served to widen the gulf between them. Knowing that she could never be with him was agony. She would lie awake, imaging the myriad ways she wanted Crane to touch her. She could almost feel the weight of him, his long limbs anchoring her to the bed while he lavished kisses on every inch of her eager body.

She almost laughed at her own perversity. Crane was nothing like the type of man she usually went for. She liked strong, athletic men, whereas Crane was a string bean on legs. Knowing that didn't stop her from dreaming about him, from bringing herself off to fantasies so vivid that she was almost too ashamed to look at him in the morning.

One bright Tuesday morning, Abbie received a call from Mr. Lee, the archivist at the Old Dutch Church. Months before, she had sent out a general request for librarians, archivists, curators and local historians to contact her should they come across any information that might help them in their crusade against Moloch. Naturally, she coded it in innocuous language, so she wasn't holding out much hope of a response.

She was happy, if not relieved to leave Crane in Maeve's care while she went to talk to Mr. Lee. Maeve had taken a keen interest in Crane's welfare of late. She seemed perfectly content to keep him company while Abbie went about her daily routine of non-demonic activities. In the silent companionship between the grieving man and the taciturn girl, there seemed to be an understanding that might one day deepen into permanent friendship.

When Abbie arrived at the Church, the whole place had a deserted, almost eerie look. She walked around the back and was perturbed when she found the office locked up. She entered the chapel, wondering if she was early or had misunderstood the arrangements. Strolling up the centre aisle, she admired the airy brightness of the place, so different from the gloomy churches she had known as a child.

She was about to leave when a shockingly young pastor emerged from an inner chamber beyond the altar. He reacted with surprise at seeing her.

'Forgive me. I did not mean to interrupt your reflections.'

'Not at all,' Abbie smiled. 'My name is Lieutenant Mills from the Sheriff's Department. I had an appointment to speak with Mr. Lee.'

'I'm afraid Michael was called away rather suddenly – a family emergency.'

Abbie resisted the temptation to swear.

'Is there something I can help you with? My name is Pastor Ross, but please call me Matthew.'

'Not unless you have access to the archives,' she replied, clutching at straws. She was quickly realising that this journey had been a waste of time.

Matthew shook his head apologetically. When Abbie thanked him and turned to leave, he ventured to speak again.

'I hope you don't mind my saying so – I know you're not a congregant – but you seem somewhat troubled.'

Abbie smiled politely. 'Thank you for your concern, but I'm a police officer. That goes with the territory.'

She had a sudden portent of danger. The unexpected phone call from an archivist, the deserted appearance of the church – it bore all the hallmarks of a trap.

Abbie looked at Matthew and immediately dismissed her paranoid thoughts. He looked almost painfully young and inexperienced, yet clearly eager to tend to one of God's flock. Not exactly a servant of Moloch.

_What could be the harm? _

She slowly seated herself in one of the pews. The youthful pastor sat in the seat in front of her, a posture oddly reminiscent of Catholic confession.

'I work with a man,' she began slowly. 'We're friends – partners. We've been through a lot together, risked our lives together. But lately...' She found it impossible to continue; the words simply would not come out.

After a long pause, she heard Matthew speak softly. 'You suspect that your feelings for this man have transformed into something else?'

'Yes,' Abbie breathed, surprised at his perceptiveness. She guessed that such a quality might be an advantage in his profession. He was a good listener too; it felt good to unburden herself in this way.

'Have you considered telling him?'

She shook her head uselessly. 'He's lost his wife recently. I shouldn't even be having these feelings.'

'I see.'

There was another long silence. Abbie imagined what Matthew might think of her; some floozy lusting after her married colleague. Physical desire was generally frowned upon at by men of the cloth. Adultery was a mortal sin.

But how could he possibly know how she felt? She was deeply in love with a man yet scared to death of telling him. What was worse, she was bound to him by a supernatural spell that entwined their fates forever. Such knowledge was beyond the comprehension of even the most devout person.

'I wish I could say I understand how you're feeling,' Matthew said slowly. 'But I do know something about keeping a secret – something so great you think the whole world will cave in if you say it out loud.'

She looked up in surprise. Though she couldn't see his face, she heard the tension, the tightly controlled pain in his voice. Call it gut instinct or the knowledge of human nature that came with the job, but Abbie instantly knew what his secret was.

There was something about how he spoke and moved – a slight incline of the head that spoke of years of hiding who he was. Of desperately wanting to serve mankind but knowing deep down that those same people would judge him. She felt a swell of sympathy for the young man.

Matthew was speaking again. 'I think that telling him at this present point would only cause more pain. But don't be too downhearted – these feelings might fade with time.'

He spoke with the naïve hope of youth, but still Abbie felt a sudden sense of release, combined with a new-found determination. She would beat this thing.

If willpower alone wasn't enough, then a distraction was what was needed. It was her birthday in a few days and Luke Morales had asked her out to dinner. She would finally have the opportunity to wear her new strapless sunset yellow dress and take her mind of Crane.

If she couldn't undo Katrina's spell, she would do her damnedest to undo the feelings that kept it in place. Surely that would be enough. She raised her eyes to the ceiling and prayed it was enough.

It was all 'Matthew' could do not to laugh. People were so easily led when their hearts were concerned. He sensed Abbie's indecision, her pain and yearning. He also knew that one of two things would happen if Abbie confessed everything to Crane. Either her love for him would vanish like a will-o'-the-wisp in daylight, or Crane would return her feelings. And where would be the fun in that?

After all, there was nothing trickster-demons loved more than fun.


End file.
